


Saoirse

by EurusRantipole



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Action, Adventure, F/M, Romance, Slowburner, characteroriented, definitiveplot, demisexual, mindstudy, powersexual, unhealthyrelationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6187918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EurusRantipole/pseuds/EurusRantipole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raistlin/OFC story. Hopefully. We'll see how it works out. More a mind study than anything else really, to see if Raistlin would even accept a romantic interest in his life. Really, REALLY slow burner. Probably be like Chapter 40 or something before smut, IF there will be smut at all...on the fence. (Also posted on Fanfiction.net under the same title.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Disclaimer: Dragonlance doesn't belong to me (shocker). Do we even need this sh**?

 

* * *

  **Introduction**

* * *

 

There are two truths every storyteller knows. The first is that every world crafted from dreams is a real world, every person a real person, every imagined dilemma faced a real dilemma, every mind, creature, body, environment, idea – real. These worlds lie apart from our own "realities," yet tantalizingly close – blocked off by the limitations of our own perceptions and those more corporeal dimensional boundaries. Those who manage to crack the glass walls of their mental fortresses are classified as insane, non-compos mentis, constantly flickering between realities. Yet, even these few who manage to achieve delirium find themselves trapped by their physical forms, prevented from entering the ephemeral world of imaginative actualization.

The second truth is that all storytellers lie. Either purposefully or otherwise, every story eventually derails into a web of lies. At first, the storyteller may accurately depict the events unravelling in his or her mind, yet the storyteller's mind is but a womb in which the story-child develops. Once it is fully developed, given clear definition, it becomes its own creature, as with any child. Thus, every storyteller reaches a point in a story where they find themselves disconnected from their created world and characters, and begin to stretch to create reasonable endings and connections to pull the story together in a satisfactory manner.

It is the reader from here on out who influences the material. Belief in a story feeds it, makes it steadier, stronger, brighter, while dubiety weakens it until, if things continue on the same track long enough, the story dies, the world is snuffed out. As such, the foodstuff of the story, faith, also influences the events which occur in that world.

Sometimes the reader's, or readers', faith is quite intense. And sometimes, the reader believes in different outcomes or different events than those outlined in the original material. This can result in the creation of smaller bubble universes, partitioned out from the original world, and very similar, yet with distinct differences. As these bubble universes tend to be sustained by only one person, they die when that person's faith dies, thus their life span is significantly shorter than that of the more ubiquitous universes.

When Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman collaborated to write the Dragonlance Chronicles, they separated a bubble universe from the traditional D&D universe to create the multi-faceted world of Krynn. This bubble universe, as sometimes occurs, grew until it became almost a world in its own right, with a large platform of believers to sustain it. Now this world grows old, but continues to be influenced by a small pool of ardent readers and admirers.

Yet, when Margaret Weis developed the character Raistlin Majere, she inadvertently set about a chain of events which lead to the occasioning of a rare event, an event which can only be described as tragedy. A young reader, spending her time as usual secluded among her many book-friends, found herself fascinated with this young mage, who wielded more pathos than any in the group, yet scorned emotions. To this young reader, Raistlin Majere seemed more real than any person she had previously encountered, both in the material world, and the more ephemeral world of imagination.

As the years progressed, as she grew in both mind and body and continued to return to the world of Krynn, to watch from afar as Raistlin waged war against the goddess Takhisis, she found her captivation with the mage intensifying, until she finally realized that her enthrallment had turned into love. Love for a fictional character.

This, of course, was not the first time this had happened for the bookworm ambivert, and inwardly, she scolded herself for once again falling victim to a self-fabricated drama. Yet, she was accustomed to these unnatural attractions fading within a few weeks. So she waited, patiently, for the irrational longing for the impossible to pass.

Except it didn't.

Weeks turned into months, months into years, and she had to force herself not to dwell on the Hourglass Mage, for when she did, it brought a pleasant warmth in her stomach, but a sickly, stinging ache in her chest. And she felt disgusted by herself for continuing such a girlish fantasy of tragic romance, yet the feeling remained, no matter how much her chagrin at the whole affair grew.

Finally, she could bear it no longer.

Thus, here I am, creating yet another one of those bubble universes, one in which I shall fashion a character for myself to explore the possibility of friendship with the cynical and withdrawn Majere twin. This character is not by any means me. I am living vicariously through her being, and thus, she shares a few aspects of my personality, but she is also different from me in many ways. She would have to be, I suspect, for her to successfully establish any sort of relationship with Raistlin.

This is a story where fate twisted to add another figure to Raistlin's life. Where the treehouse town of Solace sheltered another child under its vallenwood trees.

This is the story of Saoirse.

This is a story of lies.

 

* * *

 **Author's Note:** My crap ass introduction...as usual, I tried to put my personal thoughts onto paper, and it turned out looking like Delirium's vomit. I apologize. I'm better at writing actual stories, I promise. ;)

* * *


	2. Prologue

Disclaimer: Oh yeah, in the last hour or so, I managed to gain the rights to Dragonlance.

Prologue

Nedov gasped and gripped the midwife's hand still harder, knuckles white and face pinched and flushed with the agonizing effort of birthing. Her contractions had started late noon, yet here they were, under the pale light of a waning Solinari, and the full garish glow of Lunitari. Nedov was oblivious to the world around her, had long since grown deaf to the midwife's calm coaching – well, calm at first. Bedryl had never overseen such a long labor, although she had been witness to one many, many years ago, when she had still been in training. Neither mother nor babe had survived, and she still remembered the incident vividly, long hours of pain and energy and hope – all wasted, drowned in blood and sorrow.

She had thought she might escape from experiencing such a thing again. Now though, the imprinted memory of her youth returned to her as she felt fear, fear such as she had not felt in years, since knowledge and experience relaxed her into a state of complacency.

"Push," she cried, hoarsely, continuing the seemingly endless chant and wincing as Nedov's fingernails dug deeper into her palm. "Push!"

Nedov didn't hear through the mental haze of pain and exhaustion, but she didn't need to. She had long since settled into a rhythm – exhale, push, inhale, exhale, push, inhale, exhale, push, inhale, exhale, push….She hardly knew what she did anymore, only that she must relieve herself of this terrible pressure, then it would be fine, all fine, then she might rest, free of pain…inhale, exhale, push, inhale, exhale, push….sweet oblivion, sweet darkness, but no she must deliver….she must….she must…

"AGGGHHHHHH!" she screamed suddenly into the cool night air, breaking the long strained silence only intermittently interrupted by gasps and gently, coaching words. Her vocal cords were cracked from long hours of disuse, and if she was able to think coherently, she might have regretted this small addition to the already overwhelming pain. The midwife, startled by Nedov's sudden change in posture and disposition, quickly glanced down, saw the crowning head of a small body coated in slime and blood, and nearly breathed a sigh of relief. But they were not done yet…

Wrestling with the fingers clasping her own in a death grip, Bedryl finally managed to unpeel the hand that trapped her own and replaced it quickly on the bed, where it immediately balled up in the sheets.

Bedryl hurried to the end of the bed, seeing that the babe's face was gradually emerging, and dove her hands in to help pull the body forth, long since desensitized to the natural grossness of the entire situation. Another scream rent its way from Nedov's lips and she and Bedryl strained in tandem to bring the child into the world.

Several minutes went by, the silence punctured by labored breaths and muted cursing.

Then, suddenly, anticlimactically, the rest of the body wetly slipped out into the midwife's unprepared arms. Bedryl quickly got a better grip on the child, then passed it over to her young apprentice who had been dozing in a chair off to the side, clearly resenting her necessitated presence at this late hour. Usually, Bedryl would have called on one of her more experienced trainees for such a long and difficult birthing, but she had not guessed that Nedov's labor was would be so strenuous, as the woman was of good age and health to bear children. Yet, by the time she had realized the error in her assumption, and sent out a messenger to call Morgan or Ekeria to her side, it was already long into the evening, and the girls were still young, selfish, and sensible enough to claim unavailability. Bedryl knew better of course, what could the girls have going on that was so important at 7 past moonrise in the middle of November? Nothing, that's what – unless they had managed a midnight rendezvous with one of the village boys (but then her messenger most likely wouldn't have been able to find them at all) - but Bedryl had been too preoccupied to argue. She could reprimand the girls later for shirking their duties, right now, she had a child to deliver, and a new mother to attend.

Now the girl jumped to attention, as if she was a newly enlisted soldier who had suddenly, and unexpectedly, been shoved a battleax and shield and was now being thrusted forward onto the battlefield. Her pupils were wide, blown with fear, and she looked as vulnerable as doe caught in the middle of a clearing. Bedryl, not for the first time, felt a stab of concern that the silly girl might be too petrified to be of any use at all – indeed, she might end up bungling the situation altogether. But it couldn't be helped now, and no use worrying over things that can't be avoided, especially with Nedov still needing attention….

Carefully, she handed the babe over to the girl (she was NOT going to drop the fruit of more than 10 hours labor!), then, after checking to make sure that the girl had things under control, turned back to the woman spread on the bed, almost dreading the sight that would await her.

Nedov had fallen back among the pillows as soon as the child had been freed and now rested there looking more than half dead – wet strings of hair dripping onto her cheeks, forehead bathed in sweat, eyes lidded in sunken and shadowed sockets, skin sallow and sickly. Bedryl grabbed a rag, wet it in the basin of cool water reserved precisely for the purpose, and gently dabbed at the other woman's forehead, surreptitiously bringing a hand to her neck to check for a pulse.

As soon as Bedryl's fingers made contact with Nedov's fever-hot skin, the woman's eyes flew open, filled with terrible lucidity. Her eyes found Bedryl's and held them, wordlessly.

Her lips parted, and she coughed raggedly, staining her chapped lips scarlet with blood. "The child?" she gasped, barely able to keep her eyelids open, but needing to know…

"Alive," answered Bedryl gently, with another concerned scan of the ill woman's haggard face. Then, anticipating the new mother's next question, she looked over to the girl holding the babe and shot her a questioning glance.

"Girl," she mouthed silently, apparently too intimidated to speak aloud in the tense atmosphere. Honestly, Bedryl had no idea why she had agreed to take on this child as an apprentice, or even why the girl had come to her in the first place- she had neither the determination nor the nerve to become even a modestly competent midwife.

Still, there were other thigs to worry about. Bedryl turned back to Nedov and carried on the news of the infant's gender.

Nedov's lips curved ever so slightly in a small smile, then shuddered and fell more deeply into the supporting pillows, rapidly losing her remaining strength. The pain hit her more consciously, and she gasped aloud.

Bedryl grabbed the cold compress again began frantically dabbing at Nedov's cheeks and forehead. "Stay with me, dear, you have your child to look after, it's not your time…." But even as these arguments left her mouth she recognized the futility of it all – for anyone could plainly see that Nedov's time had come.

The woman's eyes darted around uncomprehendingly, delirious, then focused once more, long enough for her to gasp out wearily, "Saoirse. Name her Saoirse."

Then her eyes drifted shut for the last time, as Nedov welcomed death for the painless respite it offered. Below her probing fingers, Bedryl felt her pulse quicken with the intensity of the new mother's demand, then steadily slow until it faded entirely, leaving Bedryl frozen above a still, sweat-slicked, still-warm corpse.

"At least she died in battle," Bedryl muttered, almost comically, then immediately chastised herself for being so callous, inwardly shocked at her own cynicism. Yet, giving birth was a battle, and not in any metaphoric sense….

Allowing herself a few moments to recover from the shock, Bedryl turned away to oversee her apprentice, seeing that the girl had successfully wiped of the blood and slime and cleared the mucus from the babe's mouth and nose so it could breathe clearly. Yet, Bedryl realized belatedly, the child – Saoirse? – had yet to make a sound since entering the world. The girl-apprentice was growing increasingly frantic, jostling the body in her arms to try and provoke a response.

Bedryl rushed over to still the silly girl's movements, inwardly cursing that none of her more experienced students had been on hand this night, for this was not a task that she particularly enjoyed, usually relegating it to her subordinates. But this one seemed unable to carry out even the most basic of tasks without an inordinate amount of fretfulness, and she didn't even bother trying to lead the girl through the steps. Better to get it done right, and get it done quickly, so that this whole messy affair could be over and done.

Quickly, she took the child, noticing as she did that it was indeed female, and opened the tiny mouth slightly so as to breathe into it. The child suddenly twitched as its tiny lungs expanded with foreign air, and Bedryl, a grizzled veteran with 30+ years' experience of dealing with newborn children, quickly drew back as the child hacked up a mouthful of repressed phlegm and mucus onto her bloodstained shift. Then the crying began, loud bawls of confusion and fear, as the child expressed its dismay at entering this cold, bleak world, reaching out with tiny arms to seek the warmth and comfort of its dead-mothers embrace.

"Welcome to the world," Bedryl said, looking down appraisingly at the shriven, bald head, "Saoirse."

 

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm in the middle of writing the next chapter...damn this is going to be a long story...(but I shall complete it!) :D :D


	3. Chapter One

Screams and laughter filtered through the lazy summer heat of Solace, as children raced down to Crystalmir Lake to wash off the sweat and dirt of a hard morning spent at play, shedding clothes as they went. The townsfolk alternatively chuckled at this youthful display of naïve single-mindedness, or grimaced and scowled as the shrill voices pierced the tranquil atmosphere.

Towards the back of the group a single boy trudged unhurriedly, staring at the dust beneath his naked feet, long since having sent his brother to run ahead with his friends with the promise that he would catch up in his own time.

"You sure, Raist?" Caramon had asked anxiously, not able to control himself from glancing over longingly at his fast disappearing friends.

"Go," Raistlin said impatiently, then seeing Caramon's face crumple like a kicked dog at this sharp reprimand, added more softly, "I'll catch up."

"Well, if you're sure…" Caramon called, half over his shoulder as he raced off to catch up, unwilling to be left behind. It wasn't as if **he** had anything holding him back, unlike his invalid of a twin brother….

Raistlin sighed, and kicked at the dust under his toes, then straightened slightly, unwilling to be drawn into another bout of self-pity. He found it irritating - well, he found everything irritating, didn't he?

No he didn't. Did he?

Damn, he was too young to be picking his mind like this. He forced himself to walk quicker, eager to lie down in the cool shade of the trees on Crystalmir Lake's shores, where he could watch the others kick and splash themselves in the shallows until they had half-drowned themselves and everyone else. A few seconds later, he slowed down again, finding the increased pace too intense for his weak body.

He settled for enjoying the scenery as he went, admiring the rough, yet graceful curve of the vallenwood trees and the dappled patterns the leafy banners cast upon the dirt path. Above the sky was as clear and blue as the lake was no doubt going to be, not a cloud in sight, and NO, he did not find everything irritating, he liked Weird Meggin just fine, so THERE.

 _After all_ , Raistlin though, pleased to find that he was not in fact so cynical as he had first believed, _Weird Meggin's the only one who treats me like I have any brain at all, not like the other adults. They just look at me, frowning with disapproval, or, even worse, with those pitying simpers…And the other children are complete idiots, not that_ they _try to talk to me…Although it's good that they don't, I can barely tolerate Caramon's inane rambling and his clumsy blunders. How we could be twins…_

And then there was also Kitiara. Well, Raistlin didn't necessarily find Kitiara _irritating_ , he just…well, he just didn't like her very much. She was smart, that was true, and she didn't treat him like most other adults did. But perhaps that was because Kitiara wasn't really an adult, even if she did act like one all the time. Kitiara wasn't quite like anyone else Raistlin knew, although if he had to compare her to someone else it would be…well…probably himself. After all, Kitiara shared the same ambitious nature Raistlin, and she was as sharp-eyed and clear-minded as he.

In the back of his mind, Raistlin felt a disturbing niggling sensation, wondering why he should dislike Kitiara if he and she were one and the same….But Kitiara was too cold, too ruthless. She would sacrifice anyone to achieve her aims. That was where they differed, that was why he couldn't like her. He got the feeling she could just as well hug him and Caramon as slit their throats – and there were lines that Raistlin, couldn't, wouldn't cross.

Feeling much relieved at having solved another quandary (and quite validated too, at having achieved some semblance of mental harmony), Raistlin emerged from his thoughts to find that he was nearing the end of the path. The other boys had long since passed ahead of him, but he could hear their shrieks nearby, accompanied by much splashing and laughing.

Raistlin sighed, finding himself almost reluctant to enter this cacophony of noise, but he had promised his brother after all, and he was unwilling to break this promise after deciding that his own sense of moral rectitude and loyalty was the one thing standing in the way of making him as bad as Kitiara.

He continued walking.

⌛<>⌛

* * *

⌛<>⌛

From her perch in the tree, Saoirse observed the rough play of the boys in the lake, longing to join in, but knowing the consequences of such actions: boys did not appreciate it when a girl insinuated herself into their midst. It was rather a shame for the recklessly inclined six year old, who found the pursuits of the other Solace girls to be too frivolous for her liking. At least splashing people, a frivolous activity for sure, promised to be more fun than comparing clothes or slavering over Kiera, the leader of Solace's young feminine troupe, in an effort to gain community brownie points.

But, alas, the boys would have none of it. It would be several years yet before they began to take note of the opposite sex's developing assets, and of course, Saoirse neither knew of this, nor would have cared if she did. She just wanted a friend.

Out of the corner of her eye, as she continued to wistfully (and resentfully) watch the game, Saoirse noticed another boy, this one far more slight than the others, approaching from the same path from which the boys had raced out of quite some time before.

She turned to see if the others had noticed their fellow's arrival, but most of them seemed to ignore him, with the exception of one broadly built boy, who seemed to spot the stranger almost immediately. He waved his arms wildly in excitement, yelling something rendered inaudible by the others' raucous screams. His friends then took advantage of the big boy's distraction to dunk him under the water, holding him there for a few seconds before he bobbed up again, spluttering and indignant.

Saoirse stifled a chuckle at this treachery, then looked to the skinny boy (who had drawn closer to her leafy hideaway by this point) to see that he wore an expression of mild disgust, but also faint amusement. Saoirse rather suspected that this amusement was merely resultant of the boy's gullibility – this one did not seem to be the most affable of people.

Meanwhile, the big boy in the water was soon laughing with the boy, apparently finding his humiliation as funny as the others, then began fluidly cutting his way through the water back to shore, presumably to meet the other boy. Truly this one must be completely ignorant of the other's resentment.

Saoirse continued watching the bigger boy's course, finding this a welcome distraction from her bitter thoughts. The boy made his way to shore in short time, stumbling clumsily onto the pebbly beach and splattering the skinny boy in a shower of water droplets. "Raist!" he shouted deafeningly, a wide grin spreading across his face. "What took you so long? Come on, we're going to start playing Sea Dragon….Marcus is going to be the dragon, and you can help me find a way to beat him!"

'Raist' scowled and pointedly wiped a drop of water from his cheek. "Caramon, you oaf, you've completely drenched me – must you always act so recklessly?"

'Caramon' ducked his head like a shamed dog before his master. "Sorry, Raist, he mumbled. His contrition soon faded however (Saoirse was quickly learning that this boy's mind was far too shallow to allow for much lasting thought) and blue eyes brightened once more. "But that's okay, you'll get wet once you come in the water anyway…."

The skinny one sighed in exasperation. "I'm not **going** in the water, brother, I have no desire to take part in your petty games…"

Caramon's expression dropped again. "But you said-"

"I said I would follow, not that I would **join in.** I never had any intention of doing so. I shall watch – no more."

Caramon's face retained its disappointment, but he made no attempt to change his brother's mind. "Well, if that's what you want…" he shrugged, and shifted uncertainly."

"Go on, then," Raist snapped impatiently. "I'll be over there – just under that oak (Saoirse started at this statement and moved herself deeper into her hiding place – for the boy had just gestured towards _her_ tree, and she was not certain that she wanted to reveal herself to this one) – "if I need you, I'll call."

Without waiting for a reply, the boy turned on his heel and set off for the aforementioned tree, leaving his brother, dripping and despondent, in his wake.

 

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Working on Chapter Two...I'll work on making chapters longer...they seem so much longer in Word, then this site just has to go and destroy my sense of accomplishment. Lol.


	4. Chapter Two

Saoirse observed the boys approach, noticing out of the corner of her eye that the boy named Caramon was already slugging his way back out to the fun in the middle of the lake. 'Raist,' trudged slowly towards the base of her hiding place, shoulders slumped, seeming, to all outward appearances, as a young boy attempting to imitate the lazily superior attitude of a typical teenager – unfocused and apathetic. However, Saoirse could see that his eyes, though turned inward, quite ruined this effect that he may or may not have been attempting to achieve. For they were bright and inquisitive, piercingly cold in their icy blueness. A sharp contrast to the warm blue of his brother's irises. (In truth, they were much the same color, but it was the personality behind the eyes which made them so distinctive.)

Saoirse found herself intrigued by this boy, who seemed so older than his years and spoke as authoritatively as any adult. She was suddenly struck by the impulse to confront the boy, talk with him. Maybe, since the other guys shunned him so, he would not find the company of a _girl_ as distasteful?

Saoirse shrugged her little shoulders in response to this mental consideration. Well, she might try it, in a bit. Once he got over here, and was settled. After all, what did she possible have to lose?

Within the minute, Raist had reached the base of the tree, and was carefully arranging himself between the broad roots, leaning semi-comfortably against the trunk. Saoirse peered down at him between the leaves, but wasn't able, at this angle, to see much more than the top of his head.

The boy did not speak, did not fidget, but merely pressed the fingertips of his two hands together in his lap and observed the boys at play in the lake. Occasionally, his head would tilt to the sound of a bird's call, or he would break from his observations (honestly, the way he looked at the other children – it was like they were some sort of _experiment_ ) to watch the bees flitting from flower to flower, gathering pollen. It was a lazy day, and only the screams of the nearby children tarnished the tranquility.

Saoirse let herself sink into a bit of a stupor, enjoying the warm breeze, and the shade of the leafy treetop above her. She rested backwards, trying to lie back without disturbing the person beneath her. A branch poked her side uncomfortably, and, in a fit of exasperation and impatience, she forgot her attempts at secrecy and snapped it off at the end.

And, of course, 'Raist,' who had been listening intently to the sounds around him intently, always wary for stray mischief-makers bent on making his life as hellish as possible, snapped his head around so fast that Saoirse feared it would keep swinging until the whole thing detached from his body.

Saoirse froze, inwardly cursing her thoughtlessness, and found herself caught in that icy glare.

"Are you spying on me?" the boy spat angrily, lifting himself half off the ground and glaring at her accusingly.

Saoirse felt herself bristle in indignation. Spying? On him? The arrogance! Well, she _had_ been watching him…but he had been watching the boys just as intently – where did he get off judging _her_?

"No," she huffed, giving up her sanctuary and jumping to the ground in a single, fluid bound. "I was watching them play…" She gestured over to the lake.

Raist, who had gotten to his feet by this time and nervously shifted backwards as the girl impulsively, and unexpectedly, jumped from the tree, continued to eye her in suspicion, but now smirked at her mockingly. "Oh? I suppose you had nothing better to do, then watch _boys_ all day?"

Saoirse reddened. He made a good point, there were other things she _could_ have been doing…but again, who was he to tell her what she should be doing during her leisure time? And, furthermore…

"You were watching them too," she pointed out defensively. "I mean, they won't let me play, and…well, I guess you just don't _want_ to play…so why not?"

Raist scowled at her reply, unable to deny the fact that he had accused the girl of idleness when he was doing the exact same thing.

"My brother wanted me to come," he said through gritted teeth, "but I take no pleasure from such childish pastimes…"

Saoirse rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. _Childish pastimes? Really? How old are you?_

Fortunately, however, she did not say this aloud. Raist's sharp eyes had noticed the eye roll, and the resultant scowl did not leave her feeling too optimistically about the future of this conversation.

Deciding a change in topic was in order, she thrust out a small hand, marked with shallow scratches from bark and branches. "My names Saoirse….what's yours?"

(Better to pretend she didn't already know his name – after all, she had already been accused of spying, and she didn't want the boy any more suspicious than he already was.)

Raist eyed her hand distastefully, and ignored it. Mentally, he tasted the girl's name on his tongue - Sear _-sha._ It sounded foreign, although the girl's appearance - dark reddish brown hair and murky green eyes - was not unusual for Solace. "My name hardly concerns you," he retorted loftily, giving the matter no more thought. The girl's background hardly concerned _him._ Meanwhile, he found it refreshing to be in such a position of superiority over someone else besides Caramon.

Saoirse felt the urge to roll her eyes again, but resisted the impulse, knowing that it would be ill-received. She was trying to turn the conversation onto more positive ground, after all.

"Well, yeah, I guess, but since I've given you my name…it's only polite right?" she wheedled.

Raistlin narrowed his eyes irritably at the girl. _Saoirse_. She was starting to become more irritating than he was willing to endure. "I did not _ask_ you for your name, you volunteered the information."

Saoirse was becoming equally frustrated by the boy's antics. Why was he so conceited? What a contrast to his brother!

"Look, it's just a _name_ , dammit." (Raistlin's eyes widened a fraction of a millimeter at the unexpected curse from a _girl's_ mouth.) "Do you think I'm some sort of wizard and I'll use it against you?" A new thought struck her. "You're not…you're not a _criminal_ are you?"

Saoirse was fairly sure he wasn't – sure the boy was arrogant as hell, but he didn't seem like the criminal type. It was more to scare him into revealing the coveted information than as any real accusation.

Raistlin was smart enough to see through the ruse – Saoirse wasn't the best actor, and while she might be able to fool the odd person here and there, she had no hopes of tricking _him._ However, even knowing this, he felt that it was most prudent at this point to just tell her, and get her to leave him alone.

What did it matter anyway, really? It's not like she would remember it, or even talk to him ever again. _(Thank the moons…)_

He realized he hadn't yet responded. Saoirse continued to wait for his reply, growing more uncertain every second by his prolonged silence. Raistlin resisted the smirk that threatened to twitch onto his face – how refreshing it was for others to be in discomfort!

"Of course I'm not a criminal," he snapped, breaking the awkward silence _(well, awkward for her!)_. "Don't be ridiculous."

Saoirse quickly recovered from her uneasiness. "Then why won't you teelll me?" she fairly sang, a mischievous half grin forming on her face.

Raistlin glared at her, trying to stifle her giddiness, but failing. Saoirse couldn't help but feel that she might be winning this battle – and this entire endeavor had proven to be far more entertaining than she had hoped.

"If I tell you, will you promise to leave me alone?" Raistlin asked, glaring still harder, irritated that he had failed to dampen her bright spirits.

Saoirse's smile finally faltered at that, looking rather disappointed. She hesitated…then nodded in agreement, slowly. After all, he had not specified the amount of time for which she had to leave him alone. She would keep her word…but she found that she rather enjoyed talking with this one. As annoyingly pompous as he could be, it was better than not talking to anyone at all, and besides, he was clearly very smart.

Raistlin's features smoothed over slightly. He believed her – her slight hesitation, combined with the fact that she was a girl, led him to believe that Saoirse would keep her word. He did not press for a more material pledge – if it had been one of the boys, he would have, but he did not feel the need in this case.

"Very well, then. My name is Raistlin," then, deciding to throw her a bone, he continued with his last name, "Raistlin Majere."

Saoirse bowed sarcastically before she dashed off, drawing her right foot behind the left in a mock curtsey. "Thank you **ever** so much, _Majere_."

Raistlin sneered ever so slightly, watching the girl as she ran off. The expression _should_ have been alien on one so young…but on Raistlin's face, it seemed natural. Yet, as he was left alone again under the tree, he found that his scorn was tinged ever so faintly with…disappointment.

This, of course, was promptly and irritably dismissed.


	5. Chapter Three

Saoirse spent the rest of the day idly, walking through the woods for short time before emerging back in the village. All the while she contemplated her conversation with the boy – Raistlin.

Mostly, she wondered how she had not encountered the boy previously. She had never seen him before, that she knew, for Saoirse had a superb memory, and she definitely would have remembered Raistlin. He was quite unlike the other children in Solace. Not in a bad way, necessarily, just….different. For all his arrogance, at least he was interesting to talk to. And Saoirse couldn't help but feel that his arrogance might be warranted, especially considering the company he kept and the town in which he lived.

But she hadn't seen him at the schoolhouse, and, to her knowledge, all of the residents' children went there when they reached the age of five. Was he not native? No…he had appeared to be a native – she had detected no accent, nor had his appearance seemed particularly outlandish. He might have come from Haven – although Saoirse doubted it. Several of her cousins hailed from Haven, and, if they were at all representative of the rest of the population, she did not think that such a refined, sharp wit could have originated there.

Saoirse sighed and kicked a stone out her path irritably. What good did it do to speculate anyway? Raistlin could be from Palanthas for all she knew (although he _really, really_ did not seem to be one of their kind), and wherever he came from, it still didn't explain why he didn't go to the Solace school when he arrived. He was as old as her – surely he _had_ to go to school.

Saoirse scowled. Maybe he was such a genius that he had managed to weasel his way out of school…Well, la-de-da for him….meanwhile, **she** had to deal with garbage from not only the other students, but also the teachers. The boys hated her because she was a girl. The girls shunned her because she acted like a boy. The teachers disliked her because she didn't pay attention in class…

Saoirse kicked at another stone with a vengeance, sending it into the grass on the side of the path.

Well, what was the point in ruminating over it? No one cared anyway…and it's not like this whining was doing her any good.

No. It wasn't.

Saoirse stopped and squinted upwards, enjoying how the leaves looked when the sunlight struck through them. The sky was a beautiful shade of azure blue.

The world was beautiful. Why couldn't everyone just cut their shit and enjoy it?

She sighed and continued walking, not really sure of where she was going. She didn't want to go home…not yet. It was so…depressing there. Her father was still undoubtedly passed out on the moth-eaten pallet on the floor.

Once, their house had been rather magnificent, or so she had been told. Then the baby came along…her very self.

Too bad mother had apparently been the only thing holding her father's fragile constitution together. And too bad her mother's pelvis had been too small for her gigantic baby head.

⌛<>⌛

* * *

⌛<>⌛

Raistlin fidgeted impatiently, as Caramon said his goodbyes. Must his brother take so long in such frivolities? He wanted to get home. It was growing colder out, and the walk ahead of him was growing less and less appealing. Meanwhile, Mother had almost definitely finished her nap by now…

And parading around the village at night, searching frantically for his wayward parent while Caramon noisily questioned everyone about whether they had seen her sounded even _less_ appealing.

Now the idiots looked like they were going to start wrestling. Brilliant.

Raistlin finally snapped. "Caramon, whether you're coming or not, I'm leaving _now."_

Again, there was that kicked puppy look. "Of course, I'm coming Raist – you can't go by yourself. Sorry guys, I have to go – my brother has to go home now…."

The other kids snickered. One of them muttered something to another, and the second's face broke into a huge mocking grin. Even Raistlin couldn't hear what was said – of course they were too cowed by Caramon's protectiveness of Raistlin to openly ridicule him – but he could guess easily enough.

 _There goes Caramon again, taking care of his weakling of a twin_ sister _._

_Nah, not even a girl would be that scrawny. I bet he's part lich._

_Even lichs are kinda cool, in a creepy, scrawny dead sort-of-way. Raistlin's just a pest._

_I can't believe Caramon's related to him._

I _can't believe Caramon protects him the way he does…he should be put in his place! Always looking at us like we're idiots, when he can barely walk two steps without gasping for air…._

_Weak._

_Pest._

_Trash._

Raistlin's eyes narrowed in fury. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked away. Vaguely, beyond the strange buzzing sensation in his ears, he could hear his brother shouting final farewells as he hurried to catch up with his twin.

Now Caramon was beside him, walking unhurriedly. Even his great oaf of a twin could tell that Raistlin was angry.

And yet, Caramon knew better than to say anything, unless he wanted to receive a tongue lashing. He continued to walk quietly, slowly, eyeing his brother surreptitiously (or so he thought) out of the corner of his eye.

Raistlin gritted his teeth, ignoring the crackling tension in the air. _Just shut up,_ he silently pleaded with his brother, hoping that somehow their bond as twins would somehow allow this message to penetrate his brother's thick skull. _Just shut up, I just want to get home, stay quiet or I'll say something, and then you'll act hurt, and the whole thing will be turned against me. Just. Shut. UP._

Fortunately, even Caramon was not that dull-witted. The rest of the journey was taken in silence.

The first sound was made when the two crossed the threshold of their home, as both breathed a quiet exhale of relief.

Rosamun was still quietly snoring in her rocking chair, sewing needle and thread clasped in limp, skeletal hands.

 

* * *

**A/N:** Uhh...don't feel obligated or anything...but I'm starting to get a little concerned that I'm on Chapter 4 at this point with no feedback whatsoever...usually my stories get a little more recognition...

Is it that bad? :S (Not that it matters, I guess, since I'm really writing this for my own pleasure, but...yeah, getting a little anxious.)


	6. Chapter Four

Saoirse forced herself to turn her feet homeward as the fine day finally came to an end, sunlight burning its last, vibrant orange rays onto the path before her asshe hurried to make it home before nightfall. For, despite her parental neglect, she knew her father would be most displeased to find her out late at night. He was at the same time seemingly completely disinterested in her, but also quite adamant in controlling her comings and goings. Curfew was one of the things he was quite strict about, although why _this_ in particular warranted so much attention, when he let her go about as she pleased during the day, she wasn't quite sure.

But she wasn't all that interested in trying to understand her father's reasoning. Likely, it wasn't all that reasonably anyway.

Heaving a sigh as the worn, weather-beaten house in the trees came into view, Saoirse felt as though her shoes were filled with lead, although they continued to move at the same rate as before.

How she hated being home.

The wood panelling was cracked and splintered in many places, and although the roof was solid enough to prevent leakage during rainfall, it was patched, rather noticeably so, in a great number of places. The windows were dusty and smeared, one of the shutters half broken off. But it was not the appearance of the house that so bothered Saoirse - she could care less whether she lived in a shack or a mansion. Well, actually, truth be told, she thought she would prefer the shack to the mansion - less upkeep.

It was what awaited inside that made her feel so downcast all of a sudden, and she found herself more and more reluctant to return home. However, she knew the consequences if she didn't - as she had once opted to sleep outside and gotten a serious tanning on her backside as a result.

No, she wasn't eager to repeat that in a hurry.

She climbed up the stairs to the walkway that connected all of Solace's tree-dwellings, the made her way silently towards her house, reaching down as she went to pull the rusty old house key out of her sock. Her pockets were ripped in places, and after once losing the key due to one such rip to receive a lengthy scolding, she had found that this was far more secure. Of course, it also meant she had to wear socks and shoes, which was quite a pain, all things considered. She quite prefered the days when she had been able to do everything barefooted - but hey, it was better than having a drama at home.

Although, come to think about it, her socks were beginning to get quite dirty, and her shoes beginning to get a rather worn. Her brow furrowed at the thought as she straightened, key in hand. She would have to figure out a new place to store the key on her person soon, it would seem.

Continuing on her path and ignoring the curious stares her movement had drawn from passerby (she was quite used to them at this point), Saoirse continued on her way.

Most inhabitants of Solace rarely locked their doors - after all, they were living in a village of treehouses all linked by one main causeway! There was little pretense at privacy here. Her father, however...well, her father did not like visitors. At all. Saoirse rather suspected this was due in part to the fact that he hadn't been brought up in Solace - he had left his hometown of Haven to be with her mother - but she knew also, from random remarks by some of the townspeople, that her father had not been nearly so solitary when her mother lived. So his reclusiveness was also a result from her mother's death - which was a result of Saoirse's birth - so really, the beginning of this whole debacle could be traced back to her.

Brilliant.

Saoirse tilted her chin up slightly, stubbornly refusing to be daunted by this in the least. So what? It's not like she had _chosen_ to be born, she certainly hadn't _meant_ to cause her mother's death.

It wasn't her fault.

It wasn't.

That didn't stop her hand from shaking slightly, though as she opened the door to the home where she and her father lived.

Saoirse stepped over the threshold, and irritably kicked off her shoes as she locked the door behind her. Adjacent to the entrance hallway lay the main room - where her father was passed out on the sofa.

Saoirse could smell the ale on his breath from here, and wrinkled her nose in distaste. No matter how often she experienced the stench of alcohol, she doubted she would ever grow accustomed to it.

Knowing there was no worry of waking her hungover parent, Saoirse passed through the sitting room without another glance and into the kitchen, where she opened the pantry in search of sustenance.

Hrm. Well, she had her choice of...some stale bread (non-moldy, thouh, there's a plus…), a bit of cheese (now that _was_ moldy, she'd give it to the crows later…), an unopened jar of jam….

Good enough. She picked up the bread, grabbed a knife from the drawer, and, after giving it a quick rinse in the sink, pried open the jar of jam and speared some on the bread. Munching on it, she turned back and closed the cupboard, then, meal still in hand, exited the kitchen and began to climb the stairs that led to her bedroom.

Flopping down on her bed, Saoirse stared up at the ceiling dispassionately as she licked the remaining jam from her fingers.

Sleep.

Urgh.

No thank you.

Instead, she sat up suddenly and hung over the bed, legs stretched on the mattress to keep her balanced, and searched underneath the bed for her notebook. For a few moments, her fingers encountered nothing, and she felt a brief burst of unease - had her father decided to check her room on a whim and taken it? But no - there was the rough edge of the binding beneath her fingers, and she quickly gathered it into her hand before pulling herself upright onto the sheets once more.

She grabbed a pencil from underneath her pillow without looking, and opened the notebook, absent-mindedly flipped through the pages while she nibbled on the end of the writing implement thoughtfully. A bee alighted on a dandelion, a valenwood trunk twisting sinuously towards the sky with branches outstretched and fluttering leaves, a stranger's face with wide unfocused eyes and billowing hair - the images went on. Most of the things Saoirse drew came from her mind - she did not sketch directly from real-life, but merely drew caricatures of what she remembered and what she found interesting.

Now, she stopped at a blank page and stared at it for a while contemplatively, still chewing on the end of the pencil, wondering what to draw.

It only took her a few seconds for the obvious to dawn on her.

The sketch of the gaunt boy she had met earlier occupied her for quite some time, and it was only after Lunitari had reached her zenith that she felt satisfied she had captured his smirk accurately.

It was perhaps the first time she had ever tried to draw something exactly as it was found in the real world.

And perhaps that should have been a sign.


	7. Chapter Five

**A/N:** WOW! Land of MAKE BELIEVE! It's an *gasp* update!

It just takes me a bit to write chapter, but they'll keep coming, I promise ya.

Also, I know all this internal dialogue must be getting kinda old...things will start to pick up. I just don't want to rush this into a completely plot-driven story? What's the rush? I've got all the time in the world...well, until I die of course.

Which could be anytime.

Given my carelessness.

Almost chopped my finger off with an immersion blender last week.

Got lost in the woods with more than a dozen turkeys the week before.

Hrm.

Alright, maybe there IS a slight reason to rush...

* * *

 

 

Saoirse's father wasn't around when she rose in the morning and headed downstairs to see if she could scrounge up something to eat before school.

She wasn't surprised - he usually left an hour or so before she woke to go to work. Saoirse wasn't even sure what he actually _did_ , he switched jobs so often it was hard to keep track. Mostly, they were simple contracting jobs - helping to repair roofs, fixing the bridges that ran between houses or building new ones...it was simple work, the work to which most of the males in Solace aspired. It just didn't last long. Sometimes, her father would go for weeks without job or pay. It was times like these that her father would normally try and catch a deer or a rabbit for food - anything. Usually, they just ended up eating whatever stale food was left in the cupboards, or some vegetables or berries Saoirse had found. The lack of work encouraged her father to drink even more, leaving him so intoxicated he could barely form a coherent sentence, much less hunt successfully.

Saoirse opened and closed empty cupboard after empty cupboard. If memory served, her father was finishing a contract today, so there would be food soon. She mostly stayed out of her father's business, for both their sakes, but she always tried to keep track of when the next pay day was likely to occur. Money meant food, and she was _hungry_.

Nope. Nothing doing. Saoirse closed the last cupboard, grabbed the piece of moldy cheese from where she had placed it on the counter last night, and went to the front door, pulling on her socks and shoes and stuffing the key into the lining of her left sock as she did so. Her belly rumbled discontentedly, but resignedly, as she slid the door latch open and stepped outside, locking the house behind her.

She borrowed schoolbooks from the public supply for those who couldn't afford to buy their own, thus she had no need to carry anything with her to the schoolhouse. She hummed lightly to herself, staring at her shoes as her feet propelled her forward, unwilling to look at anyone else and risk conversation. Her mind busied itself, trying to distract her body from its lack of nourishment, and also trying to reassert itself in reality. It took awhile for her to wake up, and she always waited until the last possible moment to head to school, so even by the time she arrived, her brain was usually still quite foggy.

 _What had she been doing yesterday? Oh. The lake. Right. And then there was that boy...ohhh, yes, I remember now. I tried sketching him last night...didn't work out very well at_ all _, I guess I'm not very good at drawing people….well, I haven't tried before now, I'll probably get better with practice...I wonder if I'll see him at school? No….I would have noticed him before, I think, he has a way of standing out….I wonder if the autumn berry bushes are fruiting yet? Maybe at lunch break I'll go see if there are any to eat…I wonder if I'll get caught if I just nap at my desk? I usually do, but by the moons, I'm_ soo _tired...why in the hell did I stay up so late drawing?_

Her thoughts wandering, her lips suddenly tipped upwards in a slight, but genuine, smile, as her path briefly brought her into a patch of open sunlight. Slowly her pace slightly, she rolled her shoulders, enjoying the warmth and the revitalizing feeling it brought. _Least it's a nice day….should I just skip school? Why haven't I tried that before, other kids do it all the time._

 _Because Ms. Fugate would find out, and then she'd find a way to tell dad, and then we'd have to deal with_ that _funness._

_How would she tell him? He's drunk most of the time, he doesn't talk to anyone, and the house probably has better security than the Palanthian treasury!_

_...He'd find out. It's better to just suffer through._

_**I**_ _think you just_ _ **want**_ _to make me suffer…_

_Now why would I do that?_

_So I keep talking to a fake double of myself instead of making real friends?_

_Hm. Point…_

Saoirse smirked to herself. She knew talking with herself like this was pathetic. But….well, she preferred the illusionary company to the isolated reality in which she existed.

Most of the time, the other children just exhausted Saoirse. They all seemed to be in a world far apart from her own, abiding by nonsensical doctrines constructed by peer pressure and illogical social standards. _Why_ couldn't girls hike up their skirts and run around in the mud? Why was it so "gross" to look at a book about human anatomy? Why did boys have to be rude and tough all the time?

Saoirse had _tried_ to act like them once, in the interests of making friends….but she found that her improvised behavior was simply so different from her normal personality that the whole endeavor was a complete waste of energy, not to mention irritating as hell.

And, to make the whole thing even more confusing - Saoirse didn't even really _dislike_ these people. Sure, their behaviors, so often mindlessly conforming to ideals they didn't even understand, frustrated her to no end, but….she found, that, oddly, she still _liked_ them.

Which only made the fact that none of them liked _her_ , all the more depressing.

* * *

Raistlin's POV

* * *

"How can you be done _already_ , Raist?" Caramon moaned, hands gripping the sides of his head as he stared down at the sheet of paper in front of him with dismay.

Raistlin sighed and looked over at his brother's arithmetic work, breaking away from his contemplation of the bright sunlight outside. He almost wanted to go outside and enjoy the nice weather...but, then, he wouldn't really be able to enjoy it with all those pitying stares, would he?

Then he snorted, finding amusement in his brother's progress. "Really, Caramon? It's just the multiplication tables….we've already gone through all the 8 times…"

Caramon turned tormented puppy dogs on him. "I don't remember stuff like you do, Raist-"

 _Maybe you would if you actually_ _ **tried**_ _,_ Raistlin thought snarkily-

"Besides, why do we even _have_ to know this stuff? I'm going to be a soldier - Kit says so.I don't _need_ to know my 8 times."

"Oh? And how will you know how many provisions you'll need for a troupe of men if you're unable to do even the simplest of calculations? Face it, Caramon, you're going to have to put _some_ mental effort into life - not _everything_ can be accomplished through muscle work."

"I suppose….say, why don't I just do this later? It sure is nice out….we could go down to the lake again - everyone should be out of school soon."

Raistlin cringed inwardly. "I would rather not, brother…"

"Aw come on, Raist…"

"I have no desire to watch those….brutes….beat each other up. And as much as I _love_ being openly mocked and ridiculed…" Raistlin stopped. Caramon was looking at him, bewildered.

"...Ri-di...cooled? Raist, why do you use such big words all the time."

Raistlin sighed impatiently. "Because I like to -know- things, Caramon, unlike most of the people here, it would seem. Maybe if you took a look in the dictionary once in awhile, you'd be able to keep up in our conversations."

"I still can't believe you read the entire thing...it's so _boring._ "

Internally, Raistlin sighed, suddenly weary. _Of course it is...it's incredibly boring, actually. But honestly, brother, do you_ _ **really**_ _want to live your entire life a complete simpleton? WHAT am I saying...clearly you must, else you would not persist in these efforts to avoid any form of mental exertion._

Raistlin shook his head impatiently, letting out an irritated huff of air. "Never mind, Caramon, you wouldn't understand. As to the lake, you need to finished your work first, else Kit will have you doing laps around the house until Solinari is high in the sky."

Caramon let out a noisy sigh. "I suppose you're right….could you help me, though? This stuff is so hard...I'd almost rather do the laps, except I don't want to make Kit angry."

Raistlin let the corner of his lip crook upwards in a slight smile. _And now_ you _need my help, here you are helpless. Do you not see the irony my brother? Do you not see the paradox here, my twin?_

_No. But the fact that you can't appreciate it only makes me laugh harder._

"Of course," he replied smoothly, dipping the nearby quill in the inkwell with a flourish and preparing his mind, body, and soul for the challenge that educating Caramon always presented.


	8. Chapter Six

Another month passed before Saoirse saw Raistlin in the flesh again.

She had been working on her initial sketch of him for some weeks now, not out of any real interest in the actual person, but, frankly, out of a desire for perfection. After all, she had started the sketch with the intentions of drawing something directly out of real life just as it appeared in real life. And even though she was not friends with Raistlin, had only talked with him for a few minutes, she was determined to make sure the drawing was on point.

Of course, it was rather difficult to get a drawing perfect when one had only seen the subject matter once, for a few minutes.

Which Saoirse began to realize after two weeks of frustrated edits and redraws. She just -wasn't- getting it. She wasn't getting _him_. And she was starting to forget what 'him' looked like, to the level of exactness she wanted.

So Saoirse took to wandering about the actual town more, instead of going into the woods like she usually did. This, of course, meant that there was more social interaction, but she felt it was a necessary evil in order to reach her goal.

The kid was hard to find, she'd give him that.

Saoirse gradually developed a schedule - she'd do a three-time circuit around Solace, searching (briefly, she rather hated it in there, and she doubted the skinny recluse would like it much either) in the Inn of the Last Home, then walked along the bridge walkways for awhile before heading down to the ground to wander around the ground paths. Eventually, she'd scramble up a tree and watch the boys play in the field just outside the village. Sometimes, she would check the lake...but it was early September now, and the weather was growing colder. She really doubted Raistlin would be down there, seeing as he hadn't even gone in the lake when it was warm.

After two weeks of failed effort, Saoirse realized she would have to revise her tactics. Even in the few minutes during which she had observed and talked with him, Saoirse had seen that Raistlin didn't like to be around people. His brother on the other hand…

So instead of looking for _Raistlin,_ Saoirse started keeping an eye out for Cary-whatsit.

 _Him_ she found within two days.

On the same field she frequented every day, playing with the other boys, standing heads and shoulders above the others.

And, by his behavior, he seemed to come here often.

Saoirse felt like a complete jackass.

How had she not noticed the guy? He was huge! If she had just been paying attention to _everything_ around her, instead of being so singly-focused on the task at hand, she could have found Raistlin weeks ago.

Ah well….

Now that she saw Caramon here, she figured Raistlin wouldn't be far away. The two seemed to stick together, with Raistlin being the ever-reluctant party in that solidarity.

Eyes narrowed, she scanned the borders of the field from her perch in the tree...he probably would be close enough to observe, but far enough away that he wouldn't be disturbed….

She smirked a little as she caught site of a slight figure hunched under a vallenwood. _Gotch'ya…._

Hopping down from her branch, Saoirse walked around the field, trying to keep out of Raistlin's sight. He would definitely move if he saw someone other than his brother coming towards him…

"Yo!" She exclaimed, suddenly popping up besides the tree, startling the boy sitting there so much that he fell onto his side, eyes wide, disturbed from his cynical meditations.

"Wha-who-oh, it's YOU." he spluttered, then groaned as he recognized the girl in front of him, beaming wildly. _The Saoirse girl…brilliant...didn't I tell her to leave me alone?_

The beam fell off her face, shifting into a slight frown, "I _do_ have a name, you know…"

"Well, _excuse_ me, if I have more important things on my mind than remembering the name of some random girl I met over a month ago." It was harsh, but he was rather angry at being put in such a humiliating position. Why wouldn't people just -leave- him alone?!

Saoirse's eyes flashed at this, then her expression fell a bit. "It's Saoirse. Remember?"

"What do you want?" Raistlin asked, picking himself off, and brushing some dirt off his shoulder, not looking at her. "I thought I told you to leave me alone...we made a deal, remember?"

Saoirse rolled her eyes. "Oh _suure_ , you remember _that,_ but can't be bothered to even remember my _name…"_

"I remember your name perfectly," Raistlin snapped.

"Then why-" _(Nevermind, he probably just wanted to seem superior.)_ "Forget it. Whatch'ya doing?"

" _Trying_ to relax and think. Go away."

"Aw, come on," Saoirse plopped down next to him. "Whatch'ya thinking about?"

 _(Oh, nothing someone of_ your _intellect would understand, little girl, I'm only_ the same damned age _as you…)_

Raistlin glared at her and pointedly skooted away. "Nothing you would understand."

_(Ha! Score!)_

Saoirse's eyes glinted, a different light in them now which gave Raistlin a slight pause. "Try me," she said quietly, seriously, her amusement dissipating.

Raistlin studied her curiously. Talking to her now...she seemed much more than the simple air-headed flibbertigibbet he had pegged her for the first day they had met. "Why would you care?"

Saoirse hummed, looking at him just as curiously. "Why _wouldn't_ I?"

Raistlin glanced away towards the field, gears rapidly shifting in his mind from her answer. Her very, very strange answer...once again, he had to wonder if this girl was a foreigner.

"Where are you from?" He asked suddenly, turning to pierce her with the icy blue gaze he _knew_ disturbed so many.

Saoirse looked surprised at this abrupt question. " _That's_ what you were thinking about?"

Raistlin snorted. "Hardly. However - answer the question."

Saoirse looked a bit haughty at this blatant command, "A "please" would be nice, you know….you can't go around ordering people left and right."

Something glinted in Raistlin's eyes. "...Not..yet."

Saoirse felt a bit -uneasy?- at this strange response. If it had been anyone else, she would have let it slide with nothing but a mental scoff, but with Raistlin she felt like it bore far more weight. He meant what he said.

One day, this guy might be quite scary.

"However…" Raistlin continued smoothly, "I concede your point. Answer the question, _please._ "

Saoirse felt like if he had been standing, he might have put in a sardonic bow and flourish, the sarcastic peacock, but answered anyway, hiding an amused smile. "Here. Solace. Why?" Her earlier unease had dissipated slightly, but she would not forget what he had said.

Raistlin's eyebrows quirked in thought, the strange _-hungry-_ look in his eyes disappearing. "No major reason...you just act…-different-...compared to the rest of the community." He cast an ironic glance over at the field, where boys mindlessly wrestled each other to the ground as they scrambled to prove each other's strength.

Saoirse followed his look. "Yeah, well," she muttered, "that's how I feel about you."

Raistlin nodded slowly, not surprised (of course he seemed different...he _was_ different, a completely separate species if species were determined by brain capacity), but a bit...flattered? Was that what that feeling was? He turned a new, appraising look on the girl beside him out of the corner of his eye, and relaxed. Slightly.

"Anyway…" Saoirse said, leaning back, and propping her head behind her on folded arms. "You never did answer my question."

"I never said I was going to," Raistlin replied unconcernedly. He had a new, meager level of respect for Saoirse now, but that did not mean that he was about to share his thoughts with her. Raistlin considered his mind, and the thoughts it produced, his private sanctuary, and valued it above all other things. To let a stranger in on what he was thinking...even a seemingly intelligent and well-meaning stranger - was unthinkable.

Saoirse didn't seem all that upset - indeed, she only nodded slightly. "Can't say I would answer a question like that either, so I don't blame you."

This child….

He watched her sharply as she lay back more fully and closed her eyes gently, enjoying the sun sifting through the overhanging leaves of the vallenwood, seemingly unaware of his appraising eyes upon her.

Together they rested, Raistlin thinking, wondering why this girl seemed so comfortable with him _(could it be...is she like_ me _?)_

The new thought stiffened his body as he looked at the girl, studying her features even more closely. A week ago, a wizard named Antimodes had confirmed his suspicion of magical ability - had even offered to sponsor his magical studies in a year at a nearby school.

Perhaps he wasn't the only person in Solace with magical ability.


	9. Chapter Seven

To be honest, Raistlin was at a bit of a loss, and it showed in the small frown down-turning the corner of his mouth as he walked back home with his brother that evening.

“Something bothering you, Raist?” Caramon asked, noting the familiar preoccupied look in his brother’s eyes.

“Nothing of any major concern, nor anything with which you would be able to help, my brother,” Raistlin replied softly, thinking deeply. If Saiorse _did_ have unrecognized magical talent, and it was allowed to fester in her veins, unacknowledged, untrained, she might end up like his mother. That wasn’t something he wanted to see happen, not if he could prevent it.

And yet...was there any way he _could_ get her the help she needed, if it turned out to be necessary? Antimodes had already left town, and although Solace was relatively open to different sorts of people, there was no way the town would go out of its way to ensure that a magically-inclined child got the training they needed, no matter the potential future harm that neglect might cause. Kitiara wouldn’t care to help the girl, after all, there was no direct benefit she might reap from such an effort.

He might send a message to Antimodes, but what if he was wrong? He might end up creating a pointless drama and risk alienating his only sponsor.

_If only there was a way to test her himself…’_

“Caramon,” Raistlin said suddenly, completely oblivious to the fact his twin had been talking the entire time and cutting him off midsentence, “I have to go to Weird Meggin’s. I’ll be back home later, but tell Kit, would you?”

“Weird Meggin’s?” Caramon frowned, blinking in surprise. “Isn’t it a bit late? I dunno, Raist, Kit won’t like it-”

“There’s something I have to ask her,” Raistlin interrupted, “It shouldn’t be long – I’ll be back before Lunitari reaches her peak. Make sure Mother eats something,” he was already turning away, talking over his shoulder.

“Uh…sure,” Caramon called back, a bit disoriented. He watched his twin walk away for a few seconds, then continued on his path home.

 _‘How in the abyss am I going to get Mother to_ eat _?’_

⌛ <> ⌛

 

“Raistlin?” Saoirse blinked at the skinny boy standing in her doorway for a few seconds before his presence there finally clicked.

“What the _hell_ are you _doing_ here?!” she hissed, darting an anxious eye over her shoulder to ensure her father was, in fact, still passed out (good, yes, whew) before slipping outside and shutting the door behind her quietly.

“My father will _kill_ me if he thinks I’m bringing strangers to the house,” she continued, tone rising as she steered him carefully away from the hardly-soundproof walls.

‘ _Hmmm…’house,’ not ‘home.’ Interesting...though not unsurprising I suppose, given the state of it,’_ Raistlin thought, glancing over again at the dilapidated structure while allowing himself to be directed along the walkway by the nervous girl, “I did not anticipate that my arrival would precipitate so much ire,” he said instead of voicing these thoughts. There was a hint of question in his tone, but if Saoirse heard it, she chose to ignore it, and Raistlin let the matter rest.

For now.

“Well, even if you didn’t…” Saoirse trailed off, completely baffled, and ran a hand through unruly copper locks, causing them to stand on end comically. Wide green eyes stared at him. “What _are_ you even doing here? Earlier you were treating me with a ten-foot pole, now you’re showing up on my _doorste-”_

“Do either of your parents have any magical ability?” he asked, skipping to the point and effectively cutting of her rambling.

“What?” Saoirse gaped at him, stupidly. “Magical…the most ‘magical’ my dad gets is after he’s downed his fourth flagon of ale and starts this almost _impossibly_ bad rendition of ‘The Mage’s Love,’” she wrinkled her nose. “Seriously, you do _not_ want to hear my dad sing.”

“And your mother?” he persisted, ignoring this _fascinating_ tidbit.

“Where is this even coming from, Raistlin?” she snapped, losing patience and feeling entirely too much like a fish out of water. “I promise I didn’t hex you or anything, you just seemed like an interesting person to be around.”

 _'You don’t know the half of it,’_ Raistlin thought wryly, but aloud said, “Indulge me. A matter of curiosity, only.” _Not entirely a lie…_

Saoirse eyed him suspiciously, then, abruptly, “My mother died in childbirth. I never knew her, but–” her eyes narrowed as Raistlin’s expression became just a bit too _triumphant_ for her liking, “I never heard anything about her having magical talent. I think I would have _known_ if she was a _sorceress_ …. OK, why do you look like the cat that got the cream?” she demanded, angry at all the mysterious front he was putting up.

“I don’t suppose _you_ were ever tested?” he asked innocently, trying to evade her questions.

“Majere,” Saoirse managed through gritted teeth, using his surname for emphasis, “Answer. The damned. QUESTION.”

“Fine,” he finally snapped back. “I…,” and then he was suddenly at a loss for words, unsure how much he wanted to reveal. Should he tell her he had been enrolled in a mage’s academy? What if she shared that information? He would be targeted even _more_ by bullies! Sure, the news would come out eventually, but did he really want to lose what precious weeks of relative peace he had left?

“Did you lose your tongue or something from wrapping it around all that fancy language?” Saoirse asked sarcastically, reminding Raistlin that he had little time to develop a convincing excuse.

He _did_ have to fight the slight grin that threatened to betray his amusement at her words, though. That was actually a rather funny retort, coming from her.

“Of course not,” he replied testily instead, feigning irritation and fixing the future trademark sneer in place to protect from revealing this momentary weakness. “I was merely…collecting my thoughts,” he continued, quickly overriding any snarky comment she might have made as she opened her mouth, “You must have known about the arrival of a mage a week ago?” he asked, thinking quickly as this question bought him some time.

Saoirse nodded, slowly, “ _I_ didn’t see him, but the other girls were talking about him…making fun of his robes, saying he was wearing a dress…you know the drill.”

Raistlin _did_ know. He grimaced slightly. If he were a mage, he would not tolerate such disrespect!

“But what does any of that have to do with this?” Saoirse asked, interrupting Raistlin’s indignant thoughts.

Luckily, her confusion, as well as Saoirse’s apparent penchant for adding irrelevant details, had given Raistlin the needed time to formulate his lie –ahem- _‘explanation.’_

“Well, I heard him asking anyone knew a child named Saoirse,” Raistlin said, making himself sound just a _tad_ hesitant, “He was called away, I think, before he could find you, if you were indeed the one he was looking for –” Saoirse’s eyes had widened comically in disbelief, “but it seemed strange that a mage of that caliber would be asking after a mere child. Unless of course, they were suspected of being magical.”

“But... _I_ –can’t- have magical ability,” Saoirse gasped, stricken.

            “Oh?” Raistlin quirked an eyebrow. Even in his limited experience with her, he hadn’t taken her for the mage-hating/fearing sort. Surprised, he found he was a bit…disappointed.

            That’s what he got for thinking people might be decent, once in a while, he guessed with an internal sigh.

            “No! I mean, what would I even _do?_ ” Saoirse was clearly panicking slightly, again running a hand through her scalp to further muss her hair, “My father would _never_ agree to me getting training – hell, we can barely afford food, let alone fancy mage school –” she stopped, suddenly, glaring at the boy in front of her as she realized what she had given away. “Forget I said that.”

Raistlin wouldn’t. His spirits were, however, much buoyed by the true reason for her distress.

“I’m sure Antimodes would find a way to help you, if he was professing that much interest,” Raistlin assured her, then mentally cringed, hoping she wouldn’t realize his slip…

“Yeah, but he couldn’t have been _that_ interested if he left before even _talking_ to me.” Saoirse said distractedly, scrubbing at her eyes tiredly, “And, even so… _shit_ what would me _father_ even _say_ about all this…” she trailed off, thinking.

Then her head snapped up again, and narrow green eyes looked at Raistlin accusingly. “Just a minute,” she said slowly, “Antimodes? Did you have tea with the guy and gossip about all the ratty girls around the village or something before he rode off into the sunset? And _why,_ ” she continued, taking a threatening step towards Raistlin, who chose to take a prudent step backwards, inwardly cursing himself for letting the name slip, “Am I hearing about this _now_ , after _moonrise_ , from _you_ of all people?”

“I just heard the man’s name in passing,” Raistlin protested, refusing to let himself be cowed into revealing the truth. “I guess no one else heard, or took an interest as I did.”

“Hmmm…” Saoirse continued to eye him distrustfully, then backed down a bit. “Eyes and ears always open with you, huh? Alright…” she shrugged in defeat and crossed her arms. “I suppose you’re not telling me the whole truth here, but then again, I don’t _think_ I have anything to lose, at least not yet…”

“I assure you, my intentions are entirely beneficent,” Raistlin said, relieved she was letting it slide that easily.

“Well, let’s not go _that_ far,” Saoirse smirked, “ _Neutral_ , sure. Let’s just say you’re ambivalent.”

“’Ambivalent’ would have meant I ignored the entire situation and left you to your own devices,” Raistlin was quick to argue. Then he frowned.

 _Wait…did she just get me to say I actually_ care _about the outcome of this?’_

She had. And it was evident by her sudden triumphant smirk that the trap had not been unintentional. _‘Gotch’ya_ ,’ green eyes laughed at him.

“The point,” Raistlin said quickly, anxious to get back on firmer ground and still irritated and yes, a bit disconcerted, that someone had managed to manipulate _him_ so neatly, “Is that a mage entered town, asked about you, and that seems to indicate the possibility that you might have a penchant for magic. We can’t verify this from your parentage, however,” he reached into a previously unnoticed satchel slung over his shoulder.

“We may be able to test you, personally, for magical ability now…”

Saoirse looked, transfixed,, as his hand returned, bearing forth something clenched in those long, nimble fingers…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ??!  
>  Yes, I know, a bloody update, I'm only slightly less surprised than you are probably, because I've been working on this since Thursday and have had a bit more time to acclimate myself to the disbelief. Apologies for the long wait. Summer was not a time to be writing fanfiction, as it turned out.
> 
> I'm missing math lecture posting this right now, so I'll return with my usual sarcastic disclaimer and song-inspired Chapter Title in a bit. Chapter Eight should be up the first week of November. Next week is...messy, as far as school goes.
> 
> Enjoy the cliffhanger!! Mwhahaha...finally, I understand why Moffat does it...


	10. Chapter Eight

The blade's sharp edge glinted slightly under the moonlight as Raistlin held the knife forth between them. It was held there in silence, unthreateningly, unwavering. Raistlin might have been offering a piece of fruit, so bland was his expression.

An eyebrow slowly made its way up Saoirse's brow. She did Raistlin the courtesy of not stepping back, since he had been so deliberately calm and slow in his movements, so as not to startle her. But that did not mean she was at all comfortable with a knife being directed her way.

Especially by the one six-year old in the town that might have the moral constitution to use it against another child.

Her tone, when she did finally speak, was dry as ever. "Sorry, I already have one of those. Thanks for the offer, though. I'll come find you if I need help slicing bread or anything."

Raistlin rolled his eyes, still holding the knife steady, "I need your arm."

 _Now_ Saoirse stepped back, eyes widening slightly at the boy's audacity. " _Excuse_ me? I am _not_ going to let you slice up my arm, Raistlin."

"I am not going to 'slice it up,' as you put it. I require only a few drops of blood – a single shallow cut will suffice."

Saoirse gaped at him, completely thrown by his matter-of-fact tone. "Are you _insane?_ "

Raistlin sneered at her. "I've been described as many things, but not yet that, no."

"OK…then help me out here. _Why_ do you believe it a rational action to just pop 'round a girl's house in the middle of the night, calmly proffer her a knife, then tell her you need to cut her up in order to procure a blood sample?"

Raistlin cocked his head at her curiously, suddenly distracted. "You have a rather… _impressive_ vocabulary, for a child your age."

Saoirse shifted uncomfortably. "So do you," she retorted, "And you're changing the subject."

"I am not as other children. Surely you have noted this?" Blue eyes pierced her.

Saoirse sighed. Clearly she wasn't going to get out of this, not with the look he was giving her.

"They leave the encyclopedias out in the detention room." The words were barely audible.

Raistlin's keen hearing had no difficulty picking up her words. His eyes widened. "And you _read_ them?"

Saoirse glared at him. "Well, what _else_ do you suggest I do?" she snapped defensively.

Raistlin shrugged his thin shoulders, bewildered. "Most children would simply throw spit balls," he replied, at a loss.

"'I am not as most children,'" Saoirse parroted back mockingly. She crossed her arms across her chest protectively, staring at him challengingly.

"Evidently…" Raistlin trailed off. Saoirse fidgeted nervously, as he eyed her.

His look was almost… _predatory_ in its intensity. She didn't think her words were going to incite this much of a reaction.

Raistlin, for his part, was perhaps for the first time unaware of how much he had managed to disconcert someone with his scrutiny. He was much too absorbed by the curiosity Saoirse presented.

He didn't even know any other six year olds _capable_ of reading more than a few sentences, much less an entire encyclopedia.

Another sweeping look, with one delicately raised eyebrow, then Raistlin looked away, momentarily returning his eyes to the knife. He flipped it expertly, then looked up at the girl, and smiled, as razor thin as the blade itself.

"Back to the matter at hand," he said smoothly, rolling over the topic and sweeping his perplexity aside in one brisk mental motion.

Saoirse raised both hands in protest, an alarmed expression quickly spreading across her face. Secretly, she was more relieved that he had stopped looking at her like she was…something. _Alien_? No…more…like a puzzle to be shifted and manipulated until solved. Or reduced to tiny, worthless bits in his hands.

She almost shivered, but steeled herself in time to avoid the involuntary action. She was over-reacting. She had never been good at reading people anyway, right? Right.

"You still have yet to give me one reason why I should be OK with this," she warned the knife-brandishing child. "And, gotta tell you, it's going to have to be a pretty damned **good** reason."

"I already told you," Raistlin said patiently, undeterred, "I'm going to test you for magical ability."

"And you need my _blood_ for that?" Saoirse asked, unconvinced.

"As well as my own," Raistlin raised his arm, letting the sleeve of his tunic fall away to reveal a thin cut on his forearm, a stripe of red standing out starkly on the pale skin.

Saoirse, despite herself, leaned forward to inspect the wound. It had clearly been made some hours ago – it had stopped bleeding, but had yet to form a proper scab. She wondered, briefly, in the back of her head, whether it would scar.

Her thoughts raced as she resumed her prior position. "This matters so much to you that you would cause injury to yourself? Even without knowing whether or not I would agree? You might have wounded yourself for nothing."

"It is not as if I have never been _hurt_ before, _Saoirse_ ," Raistlin said scornfully, letting the tunic fall back into its natural place. "And I prefer it done by choice, at any rate."

Saoirse was surprised to feel a surge of rage flow through her, and did her best not to let the emotion show on her face. She must have succeeded, for there was no questioning comment from the other child.

She wanted to hurt the people that had hurt this boy. And it made no sense, really – Raistlin could clearly take care of himself. Surely he would end up exacting a far worse revenge than she could ever dream up.

Her sudden protective urge was completely ridiculous, she knew, especially towards one who was flippantly talking about cutting into her skin.

But logic failed to make the impulse diminish in the least.

"Before I agree to this," Saoirse said slowly, wondering why she was even _considering_ agreeing to this – it was completely insane! "What, exactly, is your plan, here?"

Raistlin sighed. He had figured he was going to have to explain the technique, but he resented the question all the same. She would agree, in the end. He could be quite persuasive, when he wanted.

But it was _so_ time draining.

"It's an old method," he said, doing his best to sound assuring, and not irritated, "since abandoned due to it's slight…vulgar nature. Magi, as you know, are already poorly-regarded in nearly all regions of Krynn, and techniques such as this did nothing to improve the general attitude. It is a form of blood magic…"

"Yes, I rather figured that," Saoirse interrupted sarcastically.

Raistlin glanced at her, annoyed. "Do _want_ me to explain, or not?"

Saoirse subsided, doing her best to look contrite, for the sake of her curiosity, and failing utterly. "Sorry. Yes."

Raistlin rolled his eyes before continuing, "It involves the blood of one with proven magical ability, and the blood of the one in question. When both are poured into a vial, they will either mingle or separate to form two distinct layers. If they mingle, the second sample is non-magical. If they separate, then both samples are magical."

Saoirse's eyes were wide. "How does that work?"

"The magic acts almost as an electrical current – when two like samples are exposed to each other, they repel each other."

"Wow. Where'd you even learn this stuff?"

Now it was Raistlin's turn to shift uncomfortably. There was no harm in telling her, really, everyone already knew he often spent time in the crone's company, but still… "Weird Meggin'."

"Ah," Saoirse nodded, sagely, "Yeah, she seems like she knows all the…well, _weird_ stuff."

"Quite," Raistlin's lips quirked distastefully. Weird Meggin was the closest thing he had to a friend in this town. He was displeased, and... disappointed, to hear this girl speak of her thus.

Green eyes widened as Saoirse realized her error, Raistlin's tone tipping her off, "No – No, I didn't mean it like that! Weird Meggin's kinda cool – I mean, she has a pet _wolf_ for crying out loud. And bones and stuff. Honestly, with all their war games, I'm kind of surprised the other boys don't like her."

"She's too strange for their tastes – they are more interested in fantasy than reality, anyway. None of them truly understand the consequences or implications of war – they simply enjoy waving false swords around and bellowing war cries," Raistlin replied drily. His spirits were lifted, however, by Saoirse's revelation.

"Oh, and you _do_ understand the 'consequences and implications' of war?" Saoirse asked teasingly.

"Better than them at any rate," Raistlin snorted. He held up the knife again, "Now…are we going to do this sometime before the next Age?"

Saoirse paused, biting her lip slightly in contemplation. Impulsively, she suddenly thrust out her arm. "Sure. But do it quickly."

Raistlin raised an eyebrow, surprised at her brashness. She had spent the better part of an hour questioning him and arguing, and now, suddenly, she was agreeing to his proposal.

How…annoying.

Resisting the impulse to roll his eyes again, he stepped forward, pushing up the tunic sleeve. He was slightly nettled to find that, standing so close to her, she was slightly taller than him.

Saoirse held her breath as Raistlin held the knife's blade to the soft skin of her forearm, not yet piercing the skin. She shut her eyes, preparing herself for the coming sting.

And waited.

And…waited.

She opened an eye, "Are you actually going to _do_ anything with that thi — Ow!"

The blade swept quickly and cleanly across the flesh, leaving a slightly bleeding welt behind. Raistlin smiled lightly up at her, drawing a forth a vial and tapping in a few drops of blood.

Saoirse glared back at his mocking expression. "You're a jerk."

"And you," Raistlin said evenly, "Were being far too dramatic for such a little scratch."

"Yeah, well," Saoirse huffed, turning her attention to the shallow cut, gently trailing a finger across the scarlet mark, "It's different when you know it's coming, but allow it to come all the same."

Raistlin shrugged. He didn't care to wax poetic at the moment – he had a task to complete.

Another vial appeared in his hands, and he kneeled on the ground as he carefully poured the contents of the first into the second.

Saoirse quickly became aware of his actions and knelt down beside him, eyes wide and breath caught as they both awaited the results.

They didn't have to wait long, the drops sliding down easily to join the rest at the bottom of the glass.

The blood mingled.

The hands clutching the vials tightened in disappointment, the knuckles white.

Saoirse looked up, uncertainly. "So…"

"You do not have magical ability," Raistlin said shortly, standing up swiftly, both vials disappearing as he did so, doubtless hidden somewhere within his tunic or trousers, "I apologize for wasting your time."

He turned to go, face aflame with embarrassment and bitterness.

"Well, it was interesting at least," Saoirse sighed, rising up from the floor, "Hey, do you want to meet after school…tomorr…ow…."

Raistlin was already gone.

 _"_ _Yeah, good fun, we should meet up next night and summon up a demon to ask him both our destinies,"_ Saoirse thought to herself sarcastically, her good mood ruined.

She went back inside the house, closing the door quietly behind her. Her father didn't even twitch.

Mouth twisted in disgust, Saoirse went to back to bed.


End file.
